


Mouth I Would Kill To Kiss

by jungle_ride



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24507145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/pseuds/jungle_ride
Summary: Although there is no moonlight to guide her way, she shifts and glides through the darkness with the agility of a panther on the prowl. Her eyes, usually a deep blue, are alight with the faintest hint of a glowing reflective light. The optical films she is wearing, allowing for the same night vision of the animal she mimics. There’s a reason they call her the Jaguar of the Raygate Order.Azrail, the Wolf of the Greystone Order, from his position across the courtyard, hidden behind a large ornate statue, smiles wryly as he watches her. Of course she was here too.
Relationships: Assassin/Rival Assassin Who’s Been Assigned The Same Target, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Original Characters & Original Works Flash Exchange May 2020





	Mouth I Would Kill To Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nimble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimble/gifts).



Tonight is the new moon, which means it’s the perfect night for the completion of the mission. The assassin, dressed in her usual solid black attire, bow slung over her back, an array of daggers concealed on her body and her trusty assassin's blade strapped to her wrist, stalks her way through the shadows. Although there is no moonlight to guide her way, she shifts and glides through the darkness with the agility of a panther on the prowl. Her eyes, usually a deep blue, are alight with the faintest hint of a glowing reflective light. The optical films she is wearing, allowing for the same night vision of the animal she mimics. There’s a reason they call her the Jaguar of the Raygate Order. 

Azrail, the Wolf of the Greystone Order, from his position across the courtyard, hidden behind a large ornate statue, smiles wryly as he watches her. Of course she was here too. It’s not exactly a surprise, Azrail had been expecting it from the moment the council had assigned him this target, but all the same it was exasperating. Their rival Orders had gotten into the habit recently of pitting them against each other. Each one desperate to prove themselves to be the elite order. He’s still not sure why their Orders had felt a sudden need to prove themselves the best, it went against the creed, not directly but certainly blurred some of the lines. All Azrail knew for sure was this game had been going on for far too long. 

At first it had been somewhat amusing. Azrail, himself, had found the whole ordeal laughable, if somewhat narcissistic. After all, what did he care for prestige and glory? He was an assassin by vocation, for the justice he could serve. Weren’t all orders supposed to instill that ideal into their assassins? All righteous Orders at least. Considering both the Orders of Greystone and Raygate were the realm's highest held Orders, it seems to reason that this new power play between them was completely beneath everything they stood for. As for Azrail, well he knew his worth and certainly didn’t need others to validate it. 

Unlike himself, the Jaguar had taken the rivalry greatly to heart, or at least that had been Azrail’s impression during their first encounter. Considering she’d left him with scars on his right bicep, left shoulder, upper and lower back and both legs Azrail still deduces that his first impression had been correct. The threat that followed had only solidified his opinion. The Jaguar, after slaying the mark, had pushed Azrail’s battered, bruised and bleeding body up against a wall, pressed her blade into his neck and promised she would end him too if he ever got in her way. She had said it in such a harsh and venomous whisper that by all rights Azrail should have trembled for entirely different reasons than did. As it was, he had been so transfixed by her eyes, which had been ablaze with a fire, laced with an unspoken fear, that all he could do in the moment was give her a wink. 

That first encounter had sparked something inside of Azrail he hadn't been expecting. It hadn’t been love, not then at least, but it also hadn’t been frivolous enough to be just lust either. There had been a deep desire to poke and prod at the layers of venom the Jaguar was so forcefully wrapping herself in, to expose the reason for the fear he’d seen flicking in her iris. 

Azrail relates it now to something akin to the energy that drives a pubescent boy to tug at a girl, he’s known and liked for years, pigtails. That night had been the start of something sparking in the pit of his belly. A fire whose flames now burned in his veins like a driving force. He wanted to know her, in every way a person could be known. To do that he needed her attention, and the quickest way to get it was to do precisely the opposite of what she’d requested. So when the Order of Greystone had asked their Wolf to take the same case the Jaguar was on. Azrail had howled his agreement. 

The second time they met, it had been Azrail who’d come out on top. The Jaguar had snarled at him as his blade found the mark’s neck. Azrail had merely flashed her a grin and gave her a wave from his position on the rooftop above her. 

It had gone on like that. If Azrail made the kill, the Jaguar would get the next one and vice versa. Back and forth they went like a pendulum on a clock, each just waiting for the next tick tock. With each confrontation, Azrail found himself falling further down the rabbit hole. It might have taken her a bit longer, but eventually the Jaguar followed him down, and soon all their mysteries began to come into light within the darkness, one by one. Somewhere, in between all the marks and the fight to outwit the other, they had developed a strange sort of comadrary, a shared respect and curiosity of the other. 

In their last meeting, the Jaguar had in fact poisoned the mark before Azrail’s blade had found their throat. It was his blade that had killed the mark but, as the Jaguar had argued, technically the poison would have killed them anyway, whether or not Azrail’s blade had come into play. She’d had great pleasure telling him that, her eyes glinting playfully, the corners of her mouth curving up ever so slightly. In the end, they’d agreed they’d both won that one, which made them 20 a piece. 

The joint killing of their previous mark, however accidentally it might have been, has left them in a position where they’re now truly even. Azrail likes that. Being even means they’re equal on all playing fields. Being equals means they could finally move on from this odd sort of juxtaposition of comradery and adversary, onto something better. Something Azrail’s been wanting for ages, and, from the sparkle in the Jaguar’s eyes the last time they were together, she did too. 

Azrail is stirred back from his reminiscing by movement from inside the house. The mark’s bedroom light switches on. Azrail knows that it won’t be long before the mark comes to stand on the balcony with their glass of malt whiskey, as they did every night. The Jaguar, from her position in the shadows, reaches silently around herself to draw her bow, before knocking back an arrow. Azrail was now faced with a choice and not much time to decide. 

He could let her have this one, but if he does then he would have to kill the next one in order to make them equal again. Or he could kill this mark, he’s in a better position, his blade would reach quicker than her arrow, the only problem with that option was then they’d still be back in the same boat of the back and forth. Or they could…..

The realisation hits him like a knife in the back. Once he’s thought it, he knows it’s the right choice. The only choice. 

It doesn't take him long to act, once he’s made his decision. With all the skill of a true assassin he crosses the courtyard quickly and swiftly, staying in the shadows so he won’t be seen and tackles the Jaguar to the ground, pinning her down and trapping her between his legs, keeping her there by using his weight. Both their eyes dart around them, ears listening to see if their brief kerfuffle attached any unwanted attention. 

“What are you doing.” She hisses up at him, keeping her voice low so that they won’t be heard. 

“Now, now don’t be a sore loser. It was technically my turn anyway.” Azrail shouldn't be wasting time by teasing her, they were still in danger, but he finds, like most things with her, he just can’t help himself. 

“We agreed we drew last time.” She says, confused. 

“Exactly.” His eyes gleam in the darkness, light reflecting back. He was wearing the same optical lens she wore. 

“Your point. Quickly!” She demands, pulling out a knife from the inside of her thigh high boots and making to nick him, just to emphasize her point. Azrail grabs her wrist before she makes contact. 

“My point is….well actually, my first point is that a knife to the thigh is hardly what I deserve, especially when I’ve just had the most brilliant idea to solve all our problems. A kiss seems far more appropriate.” Azrail winks, already holding back the laughter as she goes to hit him square in the face. Azrail had seen it coming, so easily deflects it. 

“Though I’ll settle for your name, wild one.” Pinning her arms over her head, he leans down, ensuring their lips are only a breath apart, just as she’d done that first night. 

“You already know it Wolf.” She hisses back, making to counter maneuver him, but Azrail was prepared for that too.

“I didn’t mean your assassin title Jaguar. I meant your _name_.” He elaborates, with a roll of his eyes. Her own eyes widen in clear surprise, a frown appearing across her delicate features. 

“What?” She huffs, incredulity thick. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten it.” Azrail teases. Ignoring the fact that the move means his neck exposed to what could be a vicious bite, Azrail tilts his head, angling now so that his lips are pressing to the shell of her ear. 

“I’m Azrail.” He whispers. She stills immediately, though her body remains tense, the muscles in her wrists twitching under his grip. 

It had been a bold request, an even bolder admission. Assassins went by their Order names for a reason. The fact that he has now given her his, was….well it was foolish. Then again Azrail had always been one to throw caution to the wind. Beside, he gets the feeling that if he doesn't start being bolder with her, then they would never move past their somewhat adversary dynamic into...well anything else. 

Pulling back Azrail locks his gaze with hers, ensuring that she can see the truth to his words. That he hasn’t given her a false name to trick or manipulate her. The Jaguar watches him for a long moment, gaze steady, breathing even. Only the slight elevation in the pulse Azrailcan feel beneath his fingertips, gives any indication that she’s been affected by his admission, that she knows the truth of it. 

“Though my original, and perhaps more important point, at least in this precise moment, is that we’re even.” Azrail says, nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just broken an Order taboo a second earlier. The Jaguar blinks up at him, the sound of her eyelashes almost audible in the quiet between them. 

“So I figured it was now or never.” He adds, when she still hasn’t spoken. 

“Hmmm.” She finally hums contemplatively, shifting under him. Not to escape his grasp, Azrail notices, but just to get more comfortable. Her adjustment in body, seems to reflect her adjustment in mind as well and Azrail smiles inwardly. 

“But why does being even...” her voice trails off. Azrail can almost see her mind ticking over as she begins to process what it is he’s actually saying.

“You want us to stay that way?” She finishes, a hint of hesitation to the question, as if she’s still not completely sure of her own mind’s capability of understanding his motives. Which is ridiculous in itself. She’s always understood the way his mind works better than he does. Azrail nods at her. 

“Why?” Her voice is barely a whisper. She’s doing that thing where she won't meet his eyes and she’s biting at her bottom lip. Over their last encounters Azrail has observed that she only does that when she’s nervous, something she rarely is, except it seems, when she’s around him. Azrail is too transfixed by the way her tongue darts out to wet her lip before she draws it back through her teeth to answer. 

“Because then they can’t pit us against one another anymore.” In the end, it’s the Jaguar who answers her own question.

“Both our Orders need to concede this ridiculous game. It’s not true to the Creed and we’ve proven enough.” Azrail says, voice deep with conviction. 

“You’ve proven enough.” He adds that in, because he knows she needs to hear it, needs to believe it. The Jaguar looks up at him, eyes searching his face, Azrail thinks for a hint of a lie. There’s none to be found.

“But they have to die.” Her voice is hard and determined as she gestures to the balcony. The mark, thankfully, still hasn’t appeared. 

“Of course they have to die. They’re a child killer, they're not living beyond tonight.” Azrail says, disgruntled that she ever thought otherwise. They were assassins, through and through, there was no way either of them could turn away from the vocation. 

“We’re just going to kill him together.” She says it like it’s a fact, smiling at her own words as she says them. 

“Precisely.” He sighs. Azrail purposely loosens his grip then, just enough to let her gain the upper hand. It doesn't take her long to register it. In one swift movement she flips them over. Now it’s her, pinning him to the ground. Her eyes narrow at him, informing Azrail that she was well aware that he’d let her do it. 

“You’re mad.” She breathes, though by the sweet undertones of her voice, Azrail senses her clear affection for him. 

“Quite possibly.” He agrees with a shrug, eyes alight with a plea he hopes she can read. _Let me know you. Let me be with you._

“And when they assigned us both another target, which you know they’re bound to do. What then?” She questions, her thighs squeezing at his legs tightly as her hands come to rest on his shoulders, fingertips gripping at his leather holster straps.

“Then we kill them together again, and again and again, until they get the point, or you know _forever_.” There’s a promise in his words. An invitation. A proposal. 

She studies him for another long moment and he lets her, not caring that their time is running out, that the mark would surely be heading to the balcony at any moment. Azrail’s pretty sure he just saw a flicker of curtains. Ignoring it, he crosses his arms above his head making a pillow for his head to rest upon, as he cocks his head returning her inspection. Her eyebrows twitch, lips curling upwards. The fear he’d seen in her eyes on that first night is gone, morphing into something else, still fearful, but this time about something else entirely. Within the fear though, Azrail can see a resolve too. The blooming of an acceptance, of dare he say it, happiness. 

_I’m Dabria_. 

She mouths it at him, rather than speaks it. It’s only because Azrail is an assassin, and therefore great at reading lips, that he’s able to understand. He suspects that’s the exact reason she did it. He can’t help himself, he grins up at her unabashedly. Reaching up he wraps a hand around her neck and pulls her down.

“Dabria.” He breathes out into the night, like a prayer, just before their lips meet. It’s not as passionate of a kiss as he would have liked, just a quick hard press of contact because before either of them really has a chance to enjoy the moment, movement on the balcony, forces their attention back to the matter at hand. The mark has now appeared, their predictable glass of whiskey in hand. 

_What a fucker._ Azrail mouths up at Dabria, because how dare they interrupt them, if he hadn’t already wanted to kill them for the atrocities they’d already committed, Azrial would have wanted to kill them just for that alone. Dabria rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling as she lifts off him, offering her hand to help pull him up. Azrail takes it gladly. 

_How do we do this?_ Dabria mouths, not risking the chance of the mark hearing them, now that they were on the balcony. 

Azrail thinks for a moment then gestures to her bow that was lying on the ground from when he’d tackled her earlier. Dabria nods but gestures between them as if to say _together though._ Azrail winks back at her and risks another quick brush of lips before drawing out an arrow from his own quiver and handing it to her. 

Dabria takes the offered arrow. Where Dabria’s arrow’s fletching is black as night, his is grey, the colours of their individual calling cards.They looked good together, Azrail notes, as he comes to stand behind Dabria. Wrapping his hands over hers, together they knock back the arrows and let them fly. The arrows soar across the night sky, with deadly silence and precision, hitting the mark in the chest and piercing their heart in perfect unison. The body crumples to the ground, the whisky glass falling from their now limp hand and smashing on the floor. 

“Time to go.” Azrail says, pressing a kiss into her neck. Slinging the bow over her shoulder, Dabria spins around, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him in for another quick press of lips. Azrial can’t wait till later, when they will finally be able to do this properly. Slow and deep. Tongues entangle, limbs entwined. He’s pretty sure he’d kill in order to be able to kiss her like that. 

The sound of approaching guards and shouting within the house, means that all too soon, Dabria is pulling back, letting out a sigh of reluctance as she does so. Reaching down she takes his hand in hers, entwining their fingers. Together they disappear back into the shadows. 


End file.
